


Only A Song

by AuditoryCheesecake



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/F, Flowers, Fluff, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-05
Updated: 2016-03-05
Packaged: 2018-05-24 20:42:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6166186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuditoryCheesecake/pseuds/AuditoryCheesecake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Josephine's sure that Leliana has moved on from the time they spent together before the Inquisition, but it's hard for her to do the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only A Song

**Author's Note:**

  * For [newsbypostcard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/newsbypostcard/gifts).



Josephine pushed her office door open absently, running down her checklist of things she’d need for the Rivaini Matriarch’s arrival. They were putting her up in one of the only fully-repaired rooms in the keep, and it had taken both wine and a promise of perfumes in the next caravan from Antiva for her to convince Dorian to relinquish it.

She’d need to see to curtains, of course. No one was fond of bare stone or bare windows. Perhaps they had some forest tapestries laying about. The Rivaini were rightfully proud of their prosperous countryside, and the Matriarch would appreciate the attention, and the distance from the Templars’ barracks. She made a note to check the storage rooms, then crossed her office and opened the window, breathing in the fresh air.

Sunlight glinted off the the snowy peaks of the Frostbacks, but Josephine didn’t have time to admire the view. Her window looked out over the wide sloping path that wound from the base of the mountain up towards the causeway, and she noted down every person she could see: three riders, leaving; that would be Cassandra and two scouts, heading out to meet the Rivaini party at the border. The Bull’s Chargers, returning from the ruins of Haven, with a few stragglers, by the looks of it. Two covered carts trundling slowly up the center of the road where it was smoothest; that would be the merchants they’d expected last week. Late spring snows must have slowed them down in the passes.

She sat at her desk with a sigh, and set to sorting through the letters and reports that had piled up in the hour she’d been out of her office. She saw the small box, of course, it was right in the center of all the papers, its placement as conspicuous as the shiny lacquer on the the wood or the sprig of honeysuckle tied to the box with pale blue ribbon. She smiled at it and set it aside. It would be a reward for answering the correspondence in front of her.

It was a long time in coming, though. Josephine read through the short list of completed renovations, but that of course prompted careful thought on what they could afford to repair next. She turned the options over in her mind for the time it took to write two notes to minor nobles, thanking them for their contributions to their cause. She set those aside to be signed by the Inquisitor, and then wrote herself a reminder that the lower library was next on their list to inventory. She wrote three more letters and discussed the construction outside the Inquisitor’s chambers with an aide before she thought of the box again. Someone had slipped in and lit the candles while she wrote, and the sun had slid away from her windows. The clouds she could see were red with sunset. She’d taken far longer than she’d meant to.

She capped her inkwell firmly and set down her quill, taking the time to straighten the minor disarray on her desk. When the papers were carefully stacked, she opened a drawer and took out a heavy book. She had a ritual. 

The honeysuckle flowers had wilted a little, but she tucked them between the pages all the same, next to other flowers, pressed flat by the book and dried by time. A crocus, from the first snowmelt, a small branch of lilac from the other week. Shoots of lavender and tiny mountain daisies, a single bloom of crystal grace and the delicate leaves of an arbor blessing plant. She put the honeysuckle in the corner of a page mostly filled by the blossom of an Andraste’s grace. She closed the book gently, careful not to jostle any flowers loose, and slid it back into the drawer before she even touched the box.

She didn’t know if Leliana knew she kept the flowers. If she did, she’d certainly never mentioned it. Josephine wasn’t about to tell her. Part of it was the little thrill of pretending she may have a secret that not even the Nightingale knew… and part of it was the little thrill she got from pretending the flowers were anything other than decoration.

There had been other flowers, before. Bouquets of lilies and alstroemeria presented with proud smiles and chaste kisses. A single rose plucked from the gardens in Orlais, handed across the table of a tiny cafe. But things hadn’t been the same since they’d parted, and met again. They hadn’t talked about it, but there had been no quiet mornings or nights together in Skyhold or Haven. Professional, is what Josephine would have called their relationship now, if it weren’t for her own childish fantasies. Leliana smiled, but it was always sad, or sharp, rooted in troubles that she no longer shared with Josephine.

Josephine opened the box slowly, aware that she was smiling wistfully. There were chocolates inside, of course. Dainty little bonbons in different shapes and decorated with colored sugar. One even had a piece of crystallized lavender on the top. 

There was one piece missing. In its place was a tightly folded piece of parchment. Josephine unfolded it, and traced the looping “L” at the bottom of the small paper.

_The chocolates are not poisoned, I checked._

There was more, but it was just a report on Leliana's newest clandestine recruits, in a simple cipher. Josephine couldn’t help a glance around the room, though she knew she was alone, before she held the paper up and breathed in the scent. Of course, there was no trace of Leliana’s perfume on it. It smelled like paper, and a little like chocolate. Josephine folded it carefully and put it away, refusing to feel foolish.

She picked up the bonbon with the crystallized lavender and admired the artistry for a moment before taking a tiny bite. She wanted to savor them as long as possible.

~

Inquisitor Adaar swept in just after full dark, Commander Cullen on her heels. The chocolates were safely out of sight, tucked away in the drawer below the flower-filled book, but Adaar shot her a sly grin that made her flush and fidget all the same. She’d make a terrible spy, she knew. It was just as well that the most scandalous thing she had in her desk were letters-- not even real love letters.

“Do I smell chocolate?” Adaar asked, bouncing over to Josephine’s desk with an expression entirely too devious for a woman of her rank.

“No!” Josephine squeaked, and now Cullen was wandering towards her as well, hopeful. “They’re not for you.” She said, firmly, and Adaar wilted. Josephine held her ground with determination.

Leliana arrived then, both a blessing and a curse. Adaar turned to the open door with a pout. “Leliana, Josephine has chocolates and she won’t share them!”

Josephine felt like she would be lowering herself to Adaar’s childish level if she responded the way she wanted to.

“If they’re hers, Inquisitor, then she doesn’t need to share them.” Leliana just smiled at them all and gestured to the door that lead towards the war room. “Shall we continue to the war room? There are matters we should discuss before it gets much later.”

“Quite right.” Josephine straightened her cuffs and waited until the Inquisitor sulked her way across the office before moving away from the desk. Leliana smiled at her behind Adaar and Cullen’s backs.

“Are there any left?” She whispered, leaning toward Josephine just a little.

“Perhaps one or two.” Josephine whispered back. “But they were a gift. Why would I share?”

Leliana laughed, softly, and took Josephine’s arm, tucking her hands around Josephine’s elbow like they were walking through the streets of Orlais. Her hands were warm through Josephine’s sleeve, her fingers gentle.

~

Josephine made the chocolate last nearly a week. She rationed them out like something more precious, like lyrium or gold, and savored every moment. When she finally opened the box to find it empty, she couldn’t suppress a little sigh. It had been a long day, and she’d been hoping for just a bit of decadence.

It was a pretty box, really. It would probably wind up in her room, full of something or other. Maybe she’d keep her quills in it, since she was amassing quite a collection. For some reason, a full half of the Inquisition’s influential visitors brought her quills. They were all very fashionable quills, of course, but she would never have a chance to use all of them. Quills would be perfect for Leliana’s box, she decided. Remembering where it had come from would be the perfect pick-me-up after the frustration of snapping or losing one.

She sat at her desk, leaning her cheek in one hand and idly tracing the patterns on the lid of the box. Someone cleared their throat pointedly from the doorway. Josephine jumped, and looked up guiltily to find Leliana there with an inscrutable expression on her face. She smiled warmly and hoped the heat she could feel creeping up the back of her neck didn’t show. How long had Leliana been standing there?

“Forgive me, Leliana, did we have a meeting? I was lost in thought.” She picked up the nearest stack of papers and leafed through them, looking for an answer.

Leliana crossed the room and took the papers out of her hands. “No,” her voice was gentle, “but it’s full dark outside and you haven’t eaten yet today.”

“That isn’t true!” Josephine determinedly didn’t look at Leliana’s legs when she lifted herself onto the desk. She crossed one over the other, and Josephine snapped her eyes resolutely to Leliana’s face. “My aides brought me a plate of cheese and apples sometime midmorning.”

Leliana didn’t sigh or roll her eyes, but it was a near thing. “Yes they did, and it’s still there by the window, untouched.” Josephine glanced guiltily at the plate. “Just come eat some food with me, Josie. I heard the cooks made gnocchi.” Leliana hopped back off the desk and tugged on Josephine’s arm.

She followed Leliana out the door, laughing. “You mean you bribed them into making gnocchi as a bribe for me.”

“You can not prove that.” Leliana held the door open for her and slipped a hand around Josephine’s elbow, guiding her gently across the hall.

“This is not the way to the kitchens.” The only place they could be going was Josephine’s own chambers, and that was… perfectly reasonable. The candles were burning low enough that the kitchen staff had likely started cleaning. They always felt the need to wait on Josephine, and she tried to spare them the trouble.

“You’re right. I bribed them into setting a real meal in your rooms, and you’re going to eat it.”

“I’m perfectly capable of feeding myself you know.” They ascended the first of many flights of steps leading up to Josephine’s room.

“Oh, I wasn’t going to actually feed you. Or did you want me to?” A quick fluttering glance down at Josie, and then away. A short, strained silence. Josephine was sure Leliana could hear her heartbeat. “I jest, I jest. There are things we should discuss, however.” She continued like she hadn’t stolen three years from Josephine’s life and given her a new entirely inappropriate thought to distract her during meetings. “About this last troupe of merchants in from Rivain. They’ve a singer with them, and Maryden’s been feeling neglected. She wants me to keep the man quiet in her tavern.”

They turned down the hallway outside Josephine’s suite. “Does Maryden often ask favors of you?” She wasn’t jealous.

Leliana must have noticed her tone, but kindly didn’t comment on it. “Many people in the Inquisition know I can make things happen, and try to incentivize me to make those things favorable to them.”

“Does Maryden often _bribe_ you?”

“Yes, but I wanted to know if you thought it would be worth the bother this time. It’s apparently raised morale a bit to have new music in the tavern, and the Rivaini traders might not return if they feel slighted.” Leliana opened the door to Josephine’s chambers.

The Rivaini traders were, in fact, more valuable than one bard’s feelings, and it had nothing to do with whatever “favors” Leliana and Maryden might occasionally exchange, but the response Josephine had been building died on her tongue. 

She had been a little selfish in the room assignments, and the space she’d made for herself at the top of a mostly-empty tower was almost as bright and spacious as the Inquisitor’s private room. Josephine had brought screens up to cordain it into sections; bed and dressing, and a space that she called her parlour. It had bookshelves, though they weren’t well-stocked, next to a table and couches. She usually kept a candle on a desk near the door, since she often left and returned to her room in the dark.

Tonight, there were candles lit in the sconces around the room, and a graceful candelabra she didn’t think was hers glowed softly in the center of her low table. There was also wine, and plates of food that Josephine would normally reserve for high-ranking dignitaries. There were even _strawberries_ , though Josephine was certain the little wild plants in the garden were barely sprouting.

She took a step into the room, a little hesitant. Leliana was close beside her, smiling her soft, private smile that Josephine saw so rarely these days. “It must be a very large favor you’re going to ask me,” she said, laughing to avoid the clench in her stomach. The darkness outside made the space seem smaller than it was. The soft light held the room close together, too intimate for her not to dream…

“Something like that,” Leliana didn’t laugh, but she did smile, and went to pour the wine, leaving Josephine hovering anxiously by the door. “The favor is that I’d like you to eat a full meal for once.”

She looked over her shoulder at Josephine and smiled warmly. Her hood was down, and her hair nearly glowed in the candlelight. The breath caught in Josephine’s throat, and she furiously repressed the twitch of her hand. She knew how soft that hair was, the silky way it slid over her fingers. She knew what Leliana looked like dressed only in soft candlelight, long ago in the warmer sea air of Antiva. It wasn’t fair to Leliana that Josephine remember it so vividly, or hold the memory so closely. Candles were candles, and a favor for a friend was simply that. She was under no illusion as to exactly who was doing the favor for whom.

She sat down across from Leliana, fingers drumming unsteadily on the table. She popped a strawberry into her mouth and managed a weak smile at Leliana’s questioning expression. It was perfectly ripe, there must have been mages involved at some point.

It ached a little, to see Leliana smile like this, open and relaxed. Their work in the Inquisition was important, meant the world to Josephine in the realest, most visceral sense, but-- she was reminded of Leliana before. They hadn’t been girls exactly, back then. At least, Leliana hadn’t, but there had been something younger about both of them. 

Perhaps all the dreaming she’d been doing was just wishful thinking. Perhaps it was just another sign that Josephine was still so much less experienced and capable than her dear friend. Leliana clearly thought she needed to protect Josephine, even from her own thoughtlessness. This dinner, as nice as it was, was just another expression of that. Leliana would probably want to tuck her into bed and sing her a lullaby, after coaxing her to eat like a child.

Josephine was tired, though. Deeply tired. She let Leliana do most of the talking, happy to see this softer, lighter side of her friend returned, even briefly. She watched the light on Leliana’s hair and face, the way it made her eyes sparkle when she laughed, and let herself want, just for now.

~

She woke with the sunrise, restless. It persisted throughout the morning, even through her meeting with the new ambassador from Orlais. She could barely sit still long enough to write an entire letter. She gave up before the sun had even burned all the morning fog off the lake at the bottom of the mountain.

She paced her office for a minute, trying to wear down some of the energy, then stayed at her desk until a gust of wind ruffled her papers. It drew her to the window to take in the nearly-warm morning. She could even hear birdsong. It must truly be spring. 

With that thought in her head, staying inside was hopeless. She made her way to the garden, clipboard in hand, so at least she could pretend that she was doing something. Though she had forgotten a quill.

Josephine was sure it was the nicest morning they’d had since Wintersend, but there were few people outside. In fact, there was only one other person in the garden outside the small chapel. She checked the position of the sun. It was earlier than she’d thought.

At first she thought Maryden was the other person enjoying the garden, or perhaps the Rivaini singer, because they were plucking a gentle melody on a lute. The tune pulled at her memory, but she couldn’t quite place it until Leliana began to sing.

“If I were a bird I’d fly ‘round her window,” yes, that was the song. Leliana had sung it to her once, in half-phrases and under her breath. Josephine had never heard the full thing. She wasn’t sure if there was a full song to hear, since she’d never heard Leliana play the accompaniment, or seen anyone else perform it. “If I were a word, then she’d understand,” she trailed off, bent over the lute.

Josephine stopped in the middle of the path and listened. Josephine heard her sing so rarely these days, she had almost thought Leliana had stopped all together.

She was a little shaky at first, and since she was singing softly, her voice pulled tight on the high notes. Josephine remembered the words as Leliana sang them, wistful and a little sad. “I’d flow through her life, if I were a river. But only a song, that’s all I can give her.” Josephine took a step forward, and the stones crunched under her feet. Leliana broke off in the middle of the next phrase, whirling to face her.

They stared at each other across the bed of purple iris flowers. Leliana was framed between a lilac bush and the trailing leaves of arbor blessing, and Josephine thought she looked very beautiful and more than a little surprised. She smiled at Leliana nervously, hoping she hadn’t intruded on something terribly private.

“Please don’t stop playing on my account,” she said. “It’s been so long since I’ve heard you sing.”

Leliana’s hands tightened for a moment around the neck of the lute before she smiled back. “Come sit.”

Josephine sat on the bench near her, just close enough that she could reach out and run her hands through Leliana’s hair. If she wanted to. If it would have been a good idea.

“I remember that song.” She said, holding her clipboard tightly as if it could have flown away in the breeze.

Leliana looked away from her, her face hidden by the fall of her hair when she bent over the instrument. “I’m glad.” She strummed a quiet chord, then began a complicated melody that Josephine remembered as well. Leliana had played it sometimes to avoid talking, claiming it took her full attention.

“Will you sing it for me? You never sang me the whole of it.” Leliana’s fingers slipped, and she plucked a sour note on the lute, making her playing stutter to a stop.

“You don’t want to hear it. It’s from a foolish time.”

“What do you mean?” They had been younger, yes. But they had been happy, too.

“It is a song about things I cannot have. Why would I need to sing it when I have you here, Josie, a beloved friend?”

Josephine’s heart clenched the way it always did when Leliana said that. “I remember the song, Leliana. It’s about love.”

Leliana didn’t meet her eyes. “It is.” 

“You think you can’t have love?”

“I think it is foolish to expect more of someone than they want to give.” She stared out over the garden, away from Josephine. “I think it’s foolish of me to hold onto memories as if they could return, when I’m so different from the person I was then, and you’re--.” She stopped speaking as quickly as she’d stopped playing.

Josephine’s throat tightened and her cheeks burned. She clenched her hands in her lap rather than do something foolish. They sat in silence until she was able to take a full breath. “Leliana,” she still looked stubbornly away from Josephine. “Leliana. How can you know what I want? You’ve never even asked.”

“I’m not the same, Josie.” Her voice trembled. “The things I’ve done to get here-- I’m not the person you deserve.”

Josephine laid a hand gently over Leliana’s, tight around the neck of the lute. “What do I deserve? Someone who will keep me safe? Someone who will care for me, even when I forget to care for myself? You have always done that. You still do.”

She could feel tears prickling at the corners of her eyes, and her breath shook. Nothing seemed to matter outside of this moment; nothing outside of Leliana’s eyes, which had slid closed, her pale cheeks and her hand, tense and still under Josephine’s. “You even give me flowers. Do you know I’ve kept them all?”

Leliana finally looked at her. “You don’t have any vases in your office, I thought you threw them out a window.”

“I’d never! They’re all pressed in a book in my desk.” She put the clipboard on the bench beside her and wrapped both hands around one of Leliana’s. “If it’s foolish of you to hold onto memories, then just look at me! Memories and flowers both!”

Finally, she coaxed a small smile from Leliana. “Truly? All of them?”

“Yes.” Josephine was the sort of woman who liked to hope. “Even the little white asters you found last autumn, before the snows started.”

Leliana looked at her then, the smile Josephine remembered so well playing around the edges of her mouth. Once, that smile had meant soft kisses and softer whispers, and lazy afternoons in bed. Perhaps it still did. 

~

If I were a bird, I’d fly ‘round her window,  
and if I were a word, then she’d understand.  
If I were a dream, then I’d let her rest easy,  
and if I were a light, then I’d lead her to land.  
~  
If I were the wind, I’d tell her a story,  
and if I were the road, I’d help her along.  
I’d flow through her life if I were a river,  
but only a song, that’s all I can give her.  
~  
If I were a tree, then I’d be a willow,  
and she’d come to me, and I’d be her pillow,  
and there we would be, with the sun shining on us.  
A rose and a tree…  
~  
And I’d flow through her life if I were a river,  
but only a song, that’s all I can give her.  


Bill Staines,  
_The First Million Miles, Vol 2,_ Copyright Rounder Records, 1989


End file.
